"Young-bae, I'm sorry… I… I can't live without Seong-jin now."
"Is that right? So your childhood friend likes me better than you, huh?"
"Oh, no… No! Yu-ri, please don't do this… You weren't this kind of girl!"
"No. I used to be this kind of girl. Seong-jin—or rather, my owner—let me know. The real me… I'm so sorry…"
I read up to that point and quietly closed the internet window. I tried to suppress the rage that felt ready to explode inside me.
Who are the most worthless people in the world? Is it the gamers who want to be carried on their backs while playing? Is it the people who intentionally throw games and troll others because they're being stopped? Is it the creators who only release a single episode and never continue the series?
No, the most worthless and despicable people are the ones who deliberately create sharp, cruel endings just to make everyone else look like trash. Just like the writer of the light novel Love in School that I used to read.
If it had been an NTR story from the beginning, I wouldn't have been angry. But this writer created a harem romantic comedy and then abruptly ended it with an NTR twist. I'm not angry because it's NTR. This writer directly betrayed his readers' expectations. And the heroines, who were supposed to be happy, were prevented from finding happiness. The writer did it deliberately and maliciously. It would have been better if, after the NTR, she had completely fallen in love with the guy who stole her from the protagonist. But no, she just surrendered her body and felt guilty about it.
For whom are you drifting like this?
I felt like I would break a lot of things if I stayed at home, so I quietly packed a bag and got in my car. I drove in a rage to the publisher that serialized Love in School. Based on something the writer had mentioned, the publishing company also handled his work and serialization, so he had to be there.
After arriving at the building, I grabbed my bag and went to the office. It was a small company with no fingerprint or employee ID recognition devices, so it was easy to get inside. When an unfamiliar face stood near the entrance, several employees came over and asked from a distance, "Who are you?"
"Where is the writer of Love in School?"
"Unless you are an employee, entry is prohibited. Get out now."
When there was no sign of the writer appearing, I unzipped my bag and took out the items inside: a huge sledgehammer and a smaller one.
BAM!
Amid the employees' screams, I smashed the bonsai trees and a nearby table. I spoke again, my voice filled with rage.
"The writer of Love in School!"
Once I started taking action, the pent-up anger exploded. My head started pounding, and my hearing felt muffled. Still, the writer of Love in School had not appeared.
"Writer!"
CRACK! BANG!
I used the sledgehammer to break down a door and found the writer inside. I overturned a monitor and a table. In a state of extreme excitement, I could no longer maintain a superficial composure, so I screamed and went on a rampage. I couldn't balance my body or see clearly.
"That! Son of a—! Where! Are! You— Ugh!"
As I was causing a commotion, I suddenly felt a huge pressure on the back of my neck. I dropped the sledgehammer and the hammer. My whole body felt like it was turning to stone, and I lost consciousness.